


The Perfect Place

by macwritesthings



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, M/M, dom/sub dynamics, part of a larger work, universe-compliant language and rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 09:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macwritesthings/pseuds/macwritesthings
Summary: This is part of a larger work,What We Both Need, and it's an outtake from that series! Timmy is an artist and a submissive, and his submissive status makes him looked down on in society. In this outtake, he's looking for the gallery for his art show that introduces Armie to his work and prompts him to buy a painting of Timmy's, which then moves him to contact Timmy and begin a relationship.





	The Perfect Place

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [tumblr](https://sweetteatimmychalamet.tumblr.com)!

Timmy huffed out a breath, leaning against his sister’s side as they stood outside the gallery, shivering a little in the cold.

“Do I seriously need to do this now?” he asked, voice almost a whine as he pouted up at her, sliding his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the wind.

Pauline rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby, Timmy, and yes, you have to do it now. You need to look at the space so it can be approved, because no one but the artist can approve the space, and hey, guess what? You’re the artist.”

Timmy huffed, pushing his hair out of his face as the wind blew it back in his eyes, bumping Pauline with his hip. “Okay,” he said, shrugging. “Let’s get this over with.”

They went inside, the gallery owner immediately scooting over to greet them, all smiles and extended hands for Pauline and then looking at Timmy, waiting for him to extend his hand, palm up, for fingers to be allowed to stroke over his palm, touch the bracelet marking him as a sub, making him less than in the space that was paying him to display his work.

He did it, though, shuddered at the feeling of cold fingers sliding over his palm, resisted the urge to wipe his hand off on his jeans because that wasn’t polite. 

He wandered, after that, knowing that he was mostly there for show, because no one was going to talk to him like he was an equal, anyways, no one was really going to treat him as anyhing other than a precious little sub being coddled by his mother for his hobby, the hobby that happened to make him famous and have gallery owners clamoring to have his work displayed in their spaces because his shows always sold out and made them money, but _god forbid they treat him like a person._

He wasn’t terribly impressed with the owner, that much was for sure, but as he took in the space, the more impressed he became with the space. He tuned out the words behind him, the sound of Pauline and whatever the fuck his name was talking, studied the blank wall space, the skylights, the tracklights above his head, spinning in a slow circle. Yes, this could work. This could work very well. He had forest pieces that would work under those lights, be hit just right during specific times of day to add light to the gloom, the mystery of the pieces, bring out the creatures hidden in the shadows, and then at dusk, add just a little more mystery to them, moonlight reflecting off them just barely through the city lights….

Yes, the skylights would work nicely. 

He wandered more, tuning in occasionally when he heard his name, nodding or shaking his head in response to questions, a few times actually using his words to ask about the lighting being adjustable or a few of the sliding walls being moved around to make room for things–he had one piece, a centerpiece for the exhibit–that needed to go somewhere perfect, and as much as the gallery space was calling to him, he hadn’t found the right spot for that piece yet.

Sighing, he turned around yet another corner, into a smaller, dim room off the main gallery floor. The walls were still painted a deep, moss-green from the last exhibit, and there were soft, dusky lights set in the room, and he stopped, spinning another slow circle. This was it. This was the spot that painting was meant to be hung. This was the place that the painting was meant to be, was meant to be showcased. This would show off everything about it that he loved and the parts that caused him to ache to part with it, this was the place it could go to convince someone to buy it.

He needed someone to buy it, because if no one did, it would go home with him and be listed on the gallery’s website or his own until it was purchased, and he’d put so much of himself into it that he couldn’t have it at home. He just couldn’t. Someone else needed to buy the painting. He studied the room again, then nodded.

Stepping briskly back into the main room, he walked to the gallery owner, waiting until eyes were on him. “This is the space I want, and the centerpiece of the exhibit is going to go in that room,” he pointed to the one he’d emerged from, “and I’ll pay whatever I need to to keep it in the condition it’s in now, and to build that theme around the rest of the show.”

The owner’s eyebrows winged up, surprised, and Pauline hid a smirk behind his back, raising one eyebrow at Timmy. He shrugged. If people were unwilling to deal with him directly when it came to the terms, then they weren’t going to get his work in their buildings. That was just how it was. He was all for appearances and tradition, but there was a line of respect he demanded.

The gallery owner considered him, then stuck out a hand for Timmy to shake, a sign of respect. “Done,” he said.


End file.
